


Innocent Blood

by ShyAFWriter



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Gen, Werewolf, Whodunnit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28672917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyAFWriter/pseuds/ShyAFWriter
Summary: After a gruesome animal attack, a town discovers that is is plagued by a werewolf. The town decends into suspision and turmoil. Who can be trusted when anybody could be a monster?
Kudos: 8





	1. Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Dead Little Roosters and multiple Werewolf Let's Rolls. Enjoy!

A blood-curdling scream shatters the peace of the early-morning routine. A young woman, the local herbalist and healer, comes fleeing into the market with true terror in her eyes. In her utter panic, she trips on her dress. The innkeeper, a broad giant of a man with a soft bearded face, is just able to catch her before she hits the mud. The woman’s screams continue as she clutches at him.

“Good god, Fiona, what happened?!” the innkeeper asks with a soft but worried tone. Around him, many other townsfolk are gathering to hear.

Fiona is able to control her screaming for long enough to point with a shuddering hand back at the direction she had come. “Th… In th… G… Garden…”

At once the blacksmith, the baker and the huntsman take off, followed more timidly by the more curious members of the town. The innkeeper pays them no mind, trusting them to be able to handle whatever horror Fiona had stumbled across. Instead, he beacons another of the townsfolk, the baker’s partner, forward. “Lindsay,” he says, “Help me.”

Lindsay stoops to help him raise Fiona back to her feet, then throws their arms around her and draws her close. “You’ll be alright,” Lindsay promises her, then addresses the innkeeper. “Jack, we should get her somewhere she can sit down. And a drink – she needs a drink.”

“Take her to my place,” Jack says, “I’ll…”

“What on earth is going on here?!” an older, gruff voice demands. The crowds part to make way for the mayor, a lean man with dark hair and tired eyes. He is flanked immediately by his far more youthful and wide-eyed assistant. He looks how the mayor may have looked a decade and a half ago – pale skin, dark eyes and hair, a neat demeanour. The mayor’s assistant scans the crowd while the mayor simply frowns at Jack.

“Something in the herb garden,” Jack says. “We’re not sure what yet, but Jeremy, Michael and Alfredo left to deal with it. I’m sure whatever it is, they’ll be able to handle it.”

The major frowns at Fiona and shoots Jack a doubtful look. “Trevor,” he says over his shoulder. His assistant steps forward, ever eager to please. “Make sure Miss Nova here is seen to.”

Lindsay meets Trevor’s eyes and nudges their head towards the inn. Trevor nods, but before he can make a move, the huntsman cries: “Mayor Ramsey!”

The huntsman, Alfredo, is stood with his bow in his hand. His eyes are wide and his breaths are both rapid and deep. There’s a quiver to his voice when he calls to him: “You need to see this!”

Now the mayor’s interest is piqued. A frightened young herbalist is one thing – probably a dead dog or something in her garden – but a frightened hunter is another thing entirely. He gives Trevor a nod to continue with his order, then lets Alfredo guide him and much of the crowd around to the herb garden.

Ramsey finds a dozen or so people already there. Several look physically sick. Somebody _has_ been physically sick. Chief among the present crowd are Jeremy the blacksmith and Michael the baker, as Jack had promised. Jeremy’s skin is ice white with fear, and Michael stands hunched with his hand over his mouth and his eyes downcast. “What is it?!” Ramsey demands, his own ever-mounting worry manifesting into impatience. “What?!”

Then he sees it. A corpse tossed unceremoniously into the garden, apparently with quite some force, given the amount of destroyed crop around it. He vaguely recognises the corpse as Larry, the clerk of the town, based on his long, curled hair, but there is little else to give it away. The corpse’s throat is entirely absent, and the jaw hanging off. Entrails spill all over, one arm is torn off at the shoulder lying a few feet away, the other missing a hand and most of its forearm. The legs, while at least attached, are clearly each broken in multiple places. This was a violent death, and not one that he could wish on anyone.

Ramsey physically recoils at the sight, and he hears many behind him gasp or cry out or run away.

“It’s an animal attack,” Michael says.

“Yeah?” the mayor snaps at him, “No shit! Question is which one. Diaz?”

Alfredo shakes his head. His eyes are averted, but he has clearly seen enough. “Not one that I’ve ever seen, sir. Even bear attacks aren’t this brutal, and I haven’t seen a bear in years. But…” Alfredo glances at the corpse, shudders again and trails off.

“But…?” Ramsey prompts.

“There is something I noticed. Whatever killed him, it didn’t eat him. It didn’t do this for survival. Maybe it felt threatened by Larry, but I doubt it; if it were threatened by us it wouldn’t have come into town.”

“So why kill? For the hell of it?” Jeremy asks.

Alfredo shrugs. “Some predators kill smaller prey for sport. But I don’t know what kind of beast kills humans for fun.”

“I do,” somebody in the crowd speaks up. A man with golden hair and a thick beard steps forward. His name is Gavin, and his accent stands out from the rest of the crowd; he is a merchant by trade and travels often, and the place of his birth is half-way around the world, or so he claims. “Or, at least, I’ve heard tales of monsters that slaughter humans like this in the night. You should call a town meeting, Mayor Ramsey. I think we have a werewolf on our hands.”

“Werewolf?” Trevor raises his eyebrow at the merchant. “Man-wolf?”

The villagers are gathered inside the town hall; all but the sick, the children, and the poor herbalist Fiona, too stricken with shock to consider it. Trevor stands beside Mayor Ramsey at the front of the hall as they listen in absolute silence to Gavin.

“Shape-shifters,” Gavin explains. “You must have heard legends of creatures that change forms?”

“Sure,” Trevor admits, “We have those. But they are just that: legends!”

Gavin shakes his head sombrely. “This one is no legend. I passed through a town a couple of years ago that had just the same problem as you. Horrific, bloody murders in the night, animal attacks from a beast nobody could name. Each night, another death, sometimes multiple.”

“So it is a monster?” Ramsey prods him. “Can it be hunted? Where do these werewolves dwell? What do they eat if not their human victims?”

“As I told you, this particular type of monster changes form. At night, a giant of a wolf, as large as a horse! But by day, this beast assumes the form of a man or woman, indistinguishable from ourselves. You don’t need to look far for our monster, mayor; it lives here with us.”

Gavin has expected the atmosphere of the room to change, but not so quickly as it did. In a matter of seconds, every man and woman present is looking upon each other through a new veil of suspicion, weighing up any shred of evidence that they may secretly be the beast. Soon enough there is mumbling. Soon enough there is shouting.

“Enough! Enough! Order!” Mayor Ramsey bellows. When the room settles into an uneasy quiet, he continues: “We have no evidence that these ‘werewolves’ even exist. Perhaps they are just a figment of the imagination of a man who has travelled too far and heard too many tales.”

“I understand your distrust, mayor, but what I say is true. Perhaps you can find your own evidence of werewolves in your stored texts. You should ask your clerk. Oh, wait a second, the werewolf killed him!”

Trevor winces and narrows his eyes at the merchant. “I’ll search the records,” he declares, “But if you’re right, how do we know it isn’t you? After all, _you’re_ the outsider.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Gavin retorts. “How do I know you won’t burn any record you find to cover your own tracks?”

“Are you questioning m…”

“Trevor,” Ramsey says firmly. Trevor falls silent and pries his glare away from Gavin to nod towards the mayor. “You’ll search our records,” he orders.

“Yes, sir.”

“And somebody will watch you,” he adds. Trevor nods again confidently and shoots his glare back at Gavin. “Michael,” the mayor names, “And Matt,” he adds, nodding in the direction of the tanner. “You both can read. Observe Trevor until evidence is found. You will, of course, be financially reimbursed for your time.”

“Not enough,” Gavin says. “The wolf will strike again tonight.”

“You seem very sure of this,” Trevor points out.

“What else would you have me do, Free?” Ramsey asks.

“The wolf will kill again and again until we find it and end it! It needs to die. Today.”

“On what evidence?” Ramsey demands. “Or should I just lynch my townspeople one by one until we’re sure we got it?”

“Of course not,” Gavin argues, “But we need to do _something_!”

Ramsey nods and begins to pace. “One night,” he declares, “Unless Trevor can present evidence in favour of Gavin’s accusations. I install a one-night curfew. Every man, woman and child must be within their homes by dusk. Bar your doors, answer to no one, and do not emerge until morning. That is my decision.”


	2. Hours to Dusk

The old scripts and texts are stored within the town hall’s cellar. Trevor leads Matt and Michael down with a lit torch held before them, illuminating shelves upon shelves of papers. Matt’s jaw drops.

“What is all this?” Michael asks.

“Records, mostly,” Trevor says. His breath hangs before him as he speaks. “Centuries of records. Tax income, village expenses, births, marriages, deaths. We don’t need to search through all that. All of the learning is down here too. We need to find where Larry kept the scripts on religious superstitions and mythologies.”

“You don’t think he’s right, do you?” Matt worries.

Trevor doesn’t give any answer, but he does make eye contact with Matt and give him a strange look. He shines his torch through the cellar and begins to search. “Ancient history. Ancient history… More ancient history… _Modern_ history… Politics… Local politics… Geography and maps…” he mumbles as he goes. “Ah! Religion and mythologies! Somewhere ‘round here…”

It turns out that ‘somewhere ‘round here’ took much longer to search than Matt was expecting. He shifts his weight awkwardly, glances back at the door, and at Michael. Michael’s eyes are set on Trevor, or rather, the flame that he holds. He knows full well that if that flame licks at a paper, if it sets anything alight, if knowledge is lost, Trevor will be convicted of Larry’s murder. But Trevor is careful, and he collects several books, scrolls and papers and hands them to Matt without damaging or accidentally igniting a thing.

“There’s some… uh… _interesting_ content here,” Matt comments.

“We’re in an interesting situation,” is all Trevor says. He straightens out and gestures for them to follow, until they come to a cluttered little desk at the back of the cellar. Trevor lights the few candles surrounding it, then slots his torch into the wall.

“Larry’s desk?” Michael asks as Trevor seats himself.

“Yep. Matt?” Trevor asks. Matt sets the collected texts down before Trevor. “Just bear with me,” Trevor says as he begins scanning them. “I might be here a while…”

Jeremy thanks his customer kindly as he counts his coins. As horrid as Larry’s death was, and as frightening as the prospect of a terrifying monster prowling the streets at night is, at least it has been good for business. Everyone wants to defend themselves. It seems as if the whole village wants a new dagger, or axe, or shield.

He tucks the money away as another customer enters, but halts at the sight of them. Gavin, the merchant who started all this panic. He nods politely at Jeremy and notes his suddenly tense stance. “You’ve been busy,” he comments.

“They’ve kept me busy,” Jeremy confirms, motioning out of the window. “Can I help you?”

Gavin flashes a bag of gold coins at his hip. “Got anything made of silver?”

“ _Silver_?!” Jeremy exclaims. “As in, _silver_ silver? Silver metal? If you know a place where blacksmiths forge weapons and tools from silver, you should go back there; it’s got a bright future ahead of it financially.”

“So you have absolutely nothing?” Gavin prods. “I’m willing to pay. I could double your profits today.”

Jeremy spreads his hands. “Sorry, nothing.”

“Nothing you can smelt down?”

“You’re over-estimating my business, Free. I’ve never even touched the stuff. Mind if I ask why?”

Gavin shrugs. “Good for trade,” he says nonchalantly. “But, uh…” Gavin flashes a gold coin at Jeremy, then flicks it towards him. “If anyone comes asking for silver, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

Jeremy catches it effortlessly and gives him a thumbs up. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

“I knew you were a reasonable man. There’s another one in it for you if I can count on your discretion.”

“Always,” Jeremy says with a thin smile.

Gavin nods. “We’ll see,” he says to himself, examining Jeremy’s store. “You know, there really is some fine handiwork here. If you ever come across rare materials or forge a rare beauty, let me know. Those sorts of things sell for a small fortune in the cities. I’ll split the profits with you.”

Jeremy doesn’t like the way he says it, but he can hardly turn down the offer. Gavin is easily the wealthiest man in the village; if he says something is worth a small fortune, he means it. Jeremy politely agrees, to which Gavin smiles, nods a farewell and dips out of the shop.

“Here, here! I think…” Trevor exclaims out of nowhere. Matt and Michael dart forward to peer over his shoulders. “Nothing called ‘werewolves’ so far,” Trevor explains, “ _But_ there’s this account here. They’re called lycans but the description fits Gavin’s. Look, it shapeshifts between man in the day and great wolf in the night, its kills are often vicious and gory, and it doesn’t kill for survival; it kills on impulse.”

“For sport? That’s how Alfredo described it.” Michael says.

“Sure, yeah, same outcome.” Trevor scans through as fast as he can. “There’s an account of a werewolf that wiped out a town centuries ago.”

“Account as in ‘story’ or account as in ‘historical fact’?” Michael asks him.

“No way to tell, but from the way this is written, I’d guess these were real events. But as I said, this was a long time ago, and probably halfway around the world.”

Matt leans closer to read for himself. “Does it say anything about how to identify them as humans? Or how to kill them?”

“Uh… Nothing about identifying them. Says here that when they’re human they’re as vulnerable as the rest of us, but when they’re a wolf they’re tough. Maybe a lucky shot could take them down? Oh! It says that they have a weakness to silver in both human and wolf form. Causes significant pain and discomfort if skin contact is made.”

“Who’s wealthy enough to own silver?” Michael wonders aloud.

Trevor sits back in his chair as he considers. “Geoff,” he begins, “Probably Gavin. Jack might have some nice silverware.”

“So if they don’t own silver, they’re suspect?” Matt asks.

“Or frugal,” Trevor says. He scans through the text again, then rises and nods to them both. “I need to take this up to Geof- I mean, Mayor Ramsey. You can follow me up to him if you want, or you can leave now. Either way, you’re getting paid.”

Michael waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, I need to get back to Lindsay. If this thing is real, I got a house to fortify.”

Matt nods. “I’ll go with him,” he says to Michael. “You can trust me. We can’t both be bad.”

“No, but one of you can turn up dead,” Michael half jests.

Fiona shuffles down the stairs and quietly settles herself at the bar. She waits patiently for about ten minutes for Jack to return, distracting herself by counting the stools around the room over and over. Anything to stop herself from thinking about Larry.

Jack returns with a sombre face, but a pleasant surprise. Lindsay trails into the inn behind him, and when Fiona meets their eye, Lindsay offers a small but genuine smile.

“What happened?” Fiona asks. Her voice trembles.

Jack makes his way behind the bar and leans over the counter not so far from where Fiona is sat. His mind is a muddle, and he simply doesn’t understand what Gavin was saying.

“What…” Fiona stutters, “What happened? What do they think did it? Was it a bear? They’ll be able to catch it, right?”

Lindsay settles on the stool beside Fiona’s, takes her hand and pats Jack’s arm reassuringly. “It’s not a bear,” Lindsay says slowly. “Alfredo swore in front of the whole town it wasn’t a bear. But we’ll be alright, us three, I’m sure.”

“But if it wasn’t a bear,” Fiona repeats, “Then what was it? Did he know?”

Jack sighs, then even chuckles in disbelief. “Gavin Free said it was a monster. Something called a werewolf.”

Fiona leans forward. “You don’t believe him?”

“I know monsters exist. We’ve all heard the tales. What I don’t believe is that… Gavin said that the werewolf has two forms: wolf and human. He said that the werewolf is one of us; the werewolf is someone in this town.”

Fiona stares, then she giggles nervously. “Maybe he was joking. Gavin cracks jokes with me all the time. He must be – that doesn’t make any sense!”

“I don’t think he was,” Lindsay says as they watch out of the window while the villagers return to their stores and homes with the news that one of their neighbours is potentially a murderous beast.

Usually, the market outside Jack’s inn is bustling this time of day, and the bakery would be packed. Now, the people who walk outside are silent, often paces behind any would-be companions. With Michael observing Trevor and people anxiously awaiting news, Lindsay thinks it is a safe bet any customers will wait an hour or two for Michael to return, to question him on their findings. They dread the news he will bring home to them.

“Nothing we can do now but wait for news,” they add. “Ah! But I did bring something!” Lindsay says, turning back to Fiona with a great beam. Lindsay reaches into their bag and draws out a wrapped loaf, freshly cooked this morning and still fresh. “I know you’re all shaken up, and you’ll be out a day’s wage or so, so Michael and I wanted you to have this. Can’t have you eating whatever it is Jack serves up all day!”

Jack smiles at Lindsay’s attempt to lift their spirits. “I mostly serve your bread, Jones,” he retorts.

“Exactly. And can you trust us?” Lindsay jokes. Thanks to the current situation, the joke falls somewhat flat.

Fiona, having unwrapped the bread, gives Lindsay a quick hug. “Thank you.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Michael and I are happy to help where we can, I just wish we could help more,” Lindsay says, squeezing Fiona’s hand. “I need to get going – bakery to run and all. Stay safe, both of you. Jack, watch out for her.”

“Will do,” Jack says with a parting nod. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Lindsay vanishes out into the street, with Fiona watching them go. She takes a tentative bite of the bread as Jack begins wiping down the bar. “I don’t think Gavin would lie or joke about something like this,” Fiona says.

Jack can only shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve known so much of this town for so long – since my childhood or theirs. I can’t bear the thought that one of them might be a monster. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Anyway, I’m not getting involved. Townsfolk are already whispering against their neighbours – I want no part in it.”

Fiona nods in agreement and continues her food.

“There’s a curfew,” Jack tells her. “Dusk to dawn. You’re welcome to stay here overnight, but if you do, you can’t change your mind. I’ll come knocking for you in the morning.”

“That would be great. Thank you, Jack.”

Her thankfulness warms his heart. “I’ll bring you some bread and ale just before dusk. Please don’t try to leave your room after that. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Trevor walks through the village with a brisk pace, his hand clutching the hilt of his dagger at his hip. Many villagers shout questions to him, but all he gives them in return is a stern glare and the instruction to return to their homes. He has no time for an interrogation or to calm a panicked mob.

Fortunately, the questions don’t follow him into the woods. Where the pebbled street fades into a worn dirt path, the villagers dare not follow, and he is left in peace for the rest of his journey.

He follows the path for five peaceful minutes until the cabin comes into view. The structure is old, and the thatched roof probably needs a replacement, but it is a nice, quaint home. Peaceful, if nothing else, and for that alone Trevor envies its owner.

He knocks firmly and calls through: “Fredo? You home? It’s Trevor.”

He waits, he glances around the woods for any sign of him, and he knocks again. “Frey?”

When he is given no answer a second time, he pushes the door slightly. Alfredo hasn’t barred it; he’s probably out. Still, maybe something happened. Trevor checks his surroundings once more, then peeks inside.

Inside is cosy, but unkempt, and the smell of game is difficult to ignore. Alfredo’s bed is in the corner facing the door and is covered in furs sewn together into a thick blanket. Across from it is a small table cluttered with materials and unplaced traps and knives. Multiple baskets sit around the room, some loaded with food or animal furs to sell in town, but most stand or lie empty. In the centre is a pot of warm water hanging over a smouldering pit – Alfredo has been gone for a while, but clearly didn’t expect to be out for too long.

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary, Trevor thinks, except the crossbow lying against the foot of the bed. “How the hell…?” Trevor wonders aloud. Crossbows are expensive – Alfredo has even complained to Trevor personally about that. There’s no way a small village hunter could have saved nearly enough for one, particularly as high-quality as this one. Either this was a _very_ generous gift from someone, or Alfredo is a thief.

He hears the cry of a falcon nearby and quickly withdraws his prying eyes, closing the door to wait patiently. Alfredo makes his appearance a minute or so later with his bow and quiver over his shoulder, as usual, and a few berries in his palm – the remnants of a scavenged snack. He flinches when he sees Trevor by his door, then his face hardens. “What do you want? Tax isn’t due for a week.”

“You’re a gatherer now?” Trevor jests.

Alfredo’s eyebrows furrow. “I had a few bad hunts – I need to eat, and I’m not wandering around town trying to trade with a fucking whatever-Gavin-called-it possibly hiding down there.”

“Werewolf,” Trevor corrects him.

“Yeah, that. So is it real?” Alfredo asks. He throws the rest of his food into his mouth, brushes his hands on his jeans and then folds his arms over his chest.

Trevor gives a brief shrug. “We have a record of it, but no guarantee that’s really what we’re facing. But it’s all we have with right now, so that’s the working assumption.”

“Gavin said there were deaths every night,” Alfredo points out with narrowed eyes. “That monster will come back again tonight, won’t it?”

“Every night, unless we can stop it,” Trevor confirms.

“Then I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here. If I were you, I’d be barricading my home, eating well and settling in for a long night. Town’s already had their warnings at the meeting earlier. Does anybody know you’re here?”

Trevor nods meekly. “Mayor Ramsey. In fact, he sent me. He asked me to…”

“No,” Alfredo says shortly.

“Excuse me?”

“He sent you to ask me to hunt that thing, right? No. I’m not doing it. I’m not suicidal. I’m not a monster hunter; I hunt rabbits, and squirrels, _occasionally_ deer or larger game, but just that: game! I’d never even consider shooting at a wolf, let alone a horse-sized one! After dusk, you’ll find me here, and I’m not leaving until dawn.”

“No!” Trevor backtracks, “No, no, I’m not asking you to stay out after dusk. I wouldn’t ask that of anyone. It’s not your bow I want to hire, it’s your traps.”

Alfredo could laugh if he wasn’t so on-edge. “TRAPS?! Sure, because a rabbit trap will stop a rampaging monster.”

“They’re better than leaving our village defenceless. I’ll reimburse you for them twice over. Five-fold, even! I’ll… I’ll forgive your tax debts for three months; I know you’re struggling.”

Alfredo’s glare snaps onto him. Trevor bites his tongue but holds his head high and keeps his posture firm. “Please, Fredo,” he says, calmer. “People are going to die. I can’t leave them defenceless, and I can’t ask anybody to stay out and fight. If you can lay a trap that can do anything, cut it, distract it, _anything_ , then please do it. If not for me, for the town. You have my word that you won’t be out past nightfall.”

Alfredo scowls. He grits his teeth and looks to the sky. “We have an hour, maybe two, before dusk. If you want this done, then we need to go now. And _as soon_ as dusk falls, I’m out. Clear?”

“It’s all I can ask,” Trevor agrees.


End file.
